DALLAS FINALLY GOT ITS TRIAL OF THE CENTURY. It was a
glorious farce, full of football stars, rogue cops, undercover agents

posing as hit men, topless dancers arriving for court appearances in

demure below-the-knee dresses, and angry lawyers debating whether

African American men's eyes are naturally bloodshot or only get that

way after a night of drinking and drug use. At the center of the

proceedings, of course, was Cowboys wide receiver and Super Bowl

hero Michael Irvin, who came to court each day in sunglasses, alligator

shoes, and tailored suits, one of which was lavender. "At least the trial

was held in the summer," a member of his entourage whispered, "so

we didn't have to worry about him showing up in that damned mink

coat."

It was Irvin's full-length mink coat, which he wore along with a diamond stud earring for his grand jury appearance last
spring, that let everybody know this wasn't just a simple drug possession case; it was going to resemble a Las Vegas

floor show. Courtroom employees oohed and ahhed at Irvin and the coat. One woman asked him to autograph her Bible.

Irvin, who calls himself the Playmaker and parks his black Mercedes in the no-parking zone at the Cowboys' training

facility, basked in the attention. He considered himself untouchable--and why shouldn't he?

On the night of March 4, police officers from the Dallas suburb of Irving didn't arrest Irvin when they found him in a

hotel room celebrating his thirtieth birthday with his buddy Alfredo Roberts (a former Cowboys lineman) and two

topless dancers, Angela Beck and Jasmine Nabwangu. Party favors included 10.3 grams of cocaine and more than an